


The Well

by CeilingKiwi



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, M/M, Torture, live burial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 08:30:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20525027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeilingKiwi/pseuds/CeilingKiwi
Summary: "Did you suffer?" Hank asks. It's the question he was too afraid to ask the technicians."No," Connor says. "I put myself in stasis before I was dismembered. I didn't feel a thing."***Connor is dead. That doesn't stop him from helping Hank exact revenge on the person who murdered him.





	The Well

**Author's Note:**

> Originally a thread on twitter written over two days, this fic has been edited for clarity and pacing.
> 
> Please mind the tags.

"Did you suffer?" Hank asks. It's the question he was too afraid to ask the technicians.  
  
"No," Connor says. "I put myself in stasis before I was dismembered. I didn't feel a thing."  
  
Hank doesn't know if it's true, but it's what he would want Connor to say if he were here. He doesn't always see Connor. Sometimes Connor is just a voice in his head. But Connor is always there when Hank reaches out for him. When Hank curls in on himself, drunk and aching.  
  
"I'm here," Connor says, perched on the bed.  
  
"Hold me," Hank sobs.  
  
Connor just smiles sadly.

***

Hank has plenty of time to himself. Even when his bereavement leave runs out, he's on paid administrative leave until the investigation into Connor's murder is over.  
  
Jeffrey calls every day to make sure Hank hasn't killed himself yet. Connor laughs every time Hank's cell rings. If he's honest with himself, he doesn't know why he hasn't. Having Connor here isn't a comfort. In some ways, it only makes things worse. Connor doesn't act the way he—  
  
Connor's not—  
  
"I'm sorry," Hank gasps.  
  
"Hank." Connor's voice in his head, wrapping itself around his thoughts like a balm. "Hank."

***

Hank and Connor stare at his gun.  
  
"Don't do it," Connor says.  
  
"Why shouldn't I?" Hank's voice is flat. "There's no reason at all for me to stick around."  
  
"Jeffrey hasn't told you anything about how the investigation is going."  
  
"No shit he hasn't."

Connor's eyes sparkle. "He knows how close you must be to doing this. If he had anything at all to persuade you not to, don't you think he would drop a hint?"  
  
Hank stares at the gun.  
  
"The DPD aren't close to an arrest," Connor says. "They aren't going to catch my killer."

Hank closes his eyes.  
  
"It has to be you," Connor says, his voice in Hank's ear as if he were draped over Hank's shoulder. "You're the only one who can."  
  
"Connor." Whispered like a prayer.  
  
"What he did to me. What he did to us. Even if he goes to jail, will it be enough?"

"No." Hank tries to lean into Connor, tries to imagine his solid warmth there. "No."  
  
"My Hank. I'm sure you know what to do. You always do the right thing. That's why I love you..."  
  
"He won't get away with it. I swear to you, Connor."  
  
"I know. You'd never let me down."

***

Planning is easy. Hank doesn't have to think at all. Connor tells him what to do.   
  
"Why begin your own investigation when the DPD is already doing that work for you?"  
  
"You said the DPD isn't going to catch him."  
  
"They aren't. But you can do things that the DPD can't."

Hank looks away from Connor and doesn't look back.  
  
"The DPD has to worry about warrants and chain of custody. Even if they know who did it, they have to prove it."  
  
"How do you know they know who did it?"  
  
There's a smile in Connor's voice. "It's your hunch, Hank, not mine."

When he's ready to get to work, Hank scrolls through his list of contacts. "Chris?"  
  
"Not senior enough. He wouldn't be able to give us the information we need."  
  
"Ben?"  
  
"Too soft. If he starts to suspect our intentions, he won't help us."  
  
A pause. "...Nines?"  
  
Connor smiles. "No."

Hank frowns. He doesn't know who...

"Gavin," Connor says.  
  
"Gavin? He barely tolerates me and he fucking hates you." Hated, Hank remembers with a pang. "Why would Gavin help us with this?"  
  
"Just trust me," Connor says. "You trust me, right?"  
  
Hank doesn't have to say, _yes, you're all I have left._ Connor knows.

Connor says, "Catch him coming off a night shift when he'll be exhausted," so Hank does. He's surprised when Gavin accepts his invitation to breakfast at some shitty hole in the wall where they can have beers at 6am. When Gavin arrives and Hank sees how haggard he looks, he realizes why Gavin accepted the invitation, despite not liking Hank, despite not having liked Connor. The DPD stands by its own, and Gavin, for all his lack of charm, must believe in that on some level.

Gavin plops into the booth and says, "You wanna talk about the investigation."  
  
"Yeah," Hank says. No sense in trying to deny it.  
  
Gavin scoffs. "And here I thought you wanted me for the pleasure of my company. Fuck you." But it's as toothless as anything. From the first few minutes of their talk, Hank can tell how exhausted Gavin is.

That doesn't surprise him, but what does surprise him is how angry and indignant he is on Hank's behalf.  
  
"I know the Captain calls you every day. It is _fucked_ he won't tell you what's going on," Gavin says.

"Well, he's worried I'm gonna off myself if he gives me any bad news, I bet."  
  
Gavin just glowers. "Fuck that chickenshit kind of thinking. Certain things you just don't—" Gavin cuts himself off with an angry hiss. "Fuck him. And fuck this whole fucking mess."

Gavin tells Hank about the course of the investigation. Days at the crime scene, days going over the evidence (and Hank has a vision of pieces of Connor shut up in an evidence locker, combed over again and again by police technicians). Closing in on a suspect, then how the suspect lawyers up the second police come knocking on his door. And when they go to a judge to get that warrant, a mistake is uncovered in the chain of custody of the one crucial piece of evidence linking this suspect to the murder. Gavin's face is red as he tells this to Hank, flushed with either anger or shame. He doesn't look Hank in the eyes, clearly expecting Hank to find this news devastating.  
  
Connor whispers in Hank's ear, low and sweet. Hank isn't angry. Hank is filled with a powerful urge to move.

"We're going over everything," Gavin says, pushing around the runny eggs he's barely touched. "We'll find something else, we just need more time. There's gotta be something else. And once we get that warrant—"  
  
"Gavin," Hank and Connor say together in the same mild tone.

Gavin looks up. The lines of his face deepen.  
  
"Gavin," Hank says again. "Who's the suspect?"  
  
Gavin scowls. "Look, there are some things I shouldn't tell you. Not until we can—"  
  
"Gavin," Hank says again. Gavin squints at him, half-suspicious, half-sympathetic.

Hank takes a moment to silently ask Connor for help. He can hear Connor's gentle exhale low in his ear. "You know what Connor meant to me." Hank is speaking in the same low, gentle voice Connor has been speaking with these past weeks. Nearly hypnotic. "I can't abide not knowing. Connor was one of us. I'm one of us, too. What would you do if it was someone you cared about, and you couldn't do a thing to aid the investigation?"  
  
Gavin frowns. "Jesus, Anderson. You know why you can't be part of this."

"I know," Hank says. "But what if it was you? Stuck at home knowing the only friends you have in the world are busting their asses for your sake?"  
  
"Imagine I'd be tearing my hair out," Gavin mutters.  
  
"All I want is a name," Hank says. "To be on the same page."

Gavin gives him a careful look. "...You gotta swear to me you won't go poking your nose anywhere that'll screw this investigation up even further. Christ, Anderson, we're the only shot at justice Connor's got."  
  
"I promise," Hank says while Connor laughs hysterically.

Gavin closes his eyes for a long moment. His face is greasy and unwashed, his stubble several days old. With the beers and barely any food on his stomach, Hank wonders if Gavin will regret this later.  
  
He probably won't. And even if he does, he won't tell anybody what he did here

Gavin says, "The bastard's name is Zlatko Andronikov."  
  
Hank wonders why that sounds familiar.  
  
Gavin stands, puts cash next to his plate. "Get some sleep, Anderson. You look like shit."   
  
He walks away and Connor whispers, "He's wrong. You've never been more beautiful to me."

***

With a name, it's easy to get an address. With an address, it would be even easier than that to ring his doorbell and put a bullet in his head as soon as he opens the door.  
  
"No," Connor says as soon as the thought crosses his mind, and Hank agrees. Too quick, too clean. Too painless.

Hank goes digging up as much information as he can on Zlatko Andronikov. A criminal history of embezzlement and a few charges relating to android smuggling, back when androids were property and not people. Hank finds a mugshot where Zlatko has a smear of blue on one cheek. Hank finds old articles from the earliest days after the revolution, when androids first gained legal personhood. Zlatko was found with dismembered androids in his basement and was arrested. But he couldn't be charged with a crime that wasn't a crime when it was committed. Hank recalls an androids rights group protesting Zlatko's release. But there were so many other similar incidents at the time, some of them things that Hank and Connor wound up investigating together, that Hank had barely paid any thought to Zlatko at the time.

Dismembered. The androids were dismembered, like Connor was dismembered...  
  
"It didn't hurt," Hank gasps, his head spinning. "Tell me it didn't hurt, that you didn't die alone and in pain—"  
  
"Shh, Hank," Connor coos, "I was thinking of you. You were with me until the very end."

Hank doesn't have the same resources he would have had with the DPD. But even so, there are still plenty of things he can do.  
  
The blueprints of city buildings at City Hall are available for anyone to peruse. Including the blueprints to Zlatko's house, a historic building. "He's applied for permission to remodel his basement," Connor remarks as they look over the blueprints.  
  
Hank squints. "He has an empty well down there..."  
  
He meets Connor's eyes, and he can see the moment they arrive at the same plan, Connor's smile mirroring his own. "You know what you'll need."   
  
Hank is already assembling the list in his head. Rope, a shovel, a pickaxe, and more...  
  
"It has to be soon. Before he's finished his remodeling. You know he won't keep the well." Connor smiles. "He probably has something to hide in it."

Everything is easy enough to acquire. Most of what he needs can be bought at any hardware store, and what can't be he acquires through the connections he's made over the years on the streets.   
  
Pedro slips him a vial labeled "suxamethonium". Lifted from a veterinarian, he says. 

Hank takes a walk past Zlatko's house. He can't spot any security cameras.  
  
"There aren't any." Connor can't be seen, but his voice is as confident and as solid as though he were walking right next to him. "If the police ever got their warrant, cameras might be self-incriminating."

When they pass far around enough that the back of the house comes briefly into view, Connor pipes up, an unusual note in his voice. "Hank, there are windows into the basement. You could go now. Break in and wait for him."  
  
"Now?" Hank has to keep his voice low. "Connor, I didn't bring any of the shit. How the hell am I supposed to--"  
  
"Now, Hank!" Connor voice is insistent, angry. Hank's steps falter. He's never heard Connor sound like this. "Now! You need to hurry, Hank! What if he's already started the work!? What if the well has already been filled!? Hank...!"  
  
Hank hurries down the street, but Connor's voice follows, climbing higher and louder--

By the time Hank makes it back to his car, the noise is deafening and Hank is shaking uncontrollably.  
  
"Connor, I can't--"  
  
Sound bursts around him, and Hank clasps his hands over his ears. It doesn't help.  
  
"Connor! Connor, for Christsake! Stop!"

The noise is endless and unbearable. Hank exists in a world that has been torn apart by the cacophony. By the time he comes back to himself, he's laying on his side across the center console and someone is crying. He isn't sure if it's himself or Connor.  
  
"Connor," he gasps. The sound of his own voice splits his head like an overripe watermelon. "C-Connor, please."  
  
"Hank." The noise and the pain quiet instantly as he looks up into Connor's gentle brown eyes. "Oh, Hank."  
  
Hank reaches for Connor's face with a trembling hand. It hangs uselessly in the air, never even brushing Connor's skin no matter how Hank reaches for it.

He doesn't know how he finds the strength to drive home. Somehow he ends up back in bed, with Connor stroking his fever-hot brow.  
  
"My Hank. You do so much for me."  
  
"Connor. Connor."  
  
"I know."  
  
"I loved you," Hank gasps. "I loved you, and they gave you back to me in pieces..."

"Shh. You'll make it right."  
  
"C-Connor..."  
  
"I know you'll make it right. Hurry, Hank..."

***

  
  
When Hank opens his eyes the next morning, Connor is nowhere to be seen and there's something ugly and dripping coiling and uncoiling in his heart. He gathers everything he needs and he sets out under the cover of nightfall, a backpack full to bursting. He pays for his autotaxi with a giftcard and it drops him off a few blocks from Zlatko's manor.  
  
He doesn't care if he's caught. But it's hard not to take easy precautions.

Zlatko's manor is a fair distance away from its neighbors, the yard overgrown. Hank is certain no one sees him as he slips around the back.  
  
The only basement window large enough for him is a wide arched one. The middle panel pops out as he works a putty knife into the jamb. He's careful not to let it fall as he eases himself into the basement. He crouches in the darkness for a moment, listening for any signs of life nearby.  
  
Once he's sure Zlatko isn't around, he pops the window back into place. He doesn't want more noise escaping than he can help. The well sits directly across the room from him, lit by a sliver of moonlight from the window.   
  
As Hank moves, he notices something odd about the floor—  
  
"A dirt floor," Connor says, and laughs. "What an idiot! Totally unfinished! And to think we were prepared to crack a wall!"

While Connor crows, Hank peers into the well. Totally dry and empty as far as he can tell.  
  
"We have our work cut out for us," Connor says. "Careful, don't step on any of our friend's toys."  
  
There are mechanical shapes laying on the floor in the shadows. Hank averts his eyes.

He moves toward the cages down the hall. He rests his head against a bar, and as he does, a scream echoes distantly though his mind.  
  
"Connor," he mutters.  
  
No, it isn't a scream, it's the sound of tearing metal.  
  
"Ready your syringe," Connor says. "He's moving upstairs."

Hank's hands are steady as he draws up the plunger. It'll be more intimate than firing a gun. But that's alright. This whole thing is meant to be intimate. His last love letter to Connor.  
  
He stays crouched in the shadows as he climbs the stairs. From where he's hidden, he can see Zlatko moving up on the balconied hallway of the second floor. He has a shotgun leveled in front of him.  
  
Connor hums thoughtfully. "I wonder, is he paranoid or is his hearing just that good?"  
  
Connor doesn't sound worried. So Hank isn't worried

"I know you're there," Zlatko calls. The stairs creak as he descends. "Show yourself before I blow your head off!"  
  
"Connor," Hank mouths.  
  
Across the foyer, a noise that might be the pipes of an old house banging. Or an intruder hitting something. Connor laughs in Hank's ear.

Zlatko reaches the foot of the stairs and begins towards the noise, away from Hank. As he turns with his back to Hank, Hank emerges from the shadows, stepping in time with Zlatko. He can hear Zlatko's heartbeat growing louder and louder as he approaches. Just as Zlatko begins to turn through the archway leading further into the manor, Hank grabs him around the neck and buries the syringe in his shoulder.  
  
The shotgun in Zlatko's arms goes off, blasting an ugly bust on a nearby desk to smithereens. Zlatko struggles, tries to hit Hank with the gun, but Hank holds him firmly, letting Zlatko twist in futility until the drug takes effect.  
  
When Zlatko slumps to the ground, Hank binds his ankles together and his arms behind his back with the length of rope he's brought. He turns Zlatko over, and he's surprised to see Zlatko staring up at him, his eyes full of some animal emotion. He makes a spluttering noise as he begins to choke on his own saliva.  
  
"Jesus Christ," Hank hisses, pushing Zlatko to his side. "Jesus fucking Christ."

Hank's mind reels as he winds more rope around Zlatko. He thought the drug was going to knock him out, he thought—  
  
"Hank." Connor's voice is calm as his hands move over the rope with Hank's. "Look at how terrified he is. It's perfect."  
  
Perfect. Hank's galloping heart slows. "Look at him." Connor's voice is full of gentle delight. "Trapped in his own body. Can you just imagine what he must be thinking? Knowing what's happened to each of his victims is about to happen to him too?"  
  
Perfect. It's perfect.  
  
"Hurry, Hank."

Hank drags Zlatko down the stairs to the basement, enjoying the way his body thumps on every step. As they pass the cages, Hank remarks airily, "Hey, Andronikov. You want me to stuff you in one of those cells and throw away the key? Watch you die of thirst over a week?"

Zlatko doesn't answer.  
  
"You sure? 'Cause my other idea takes hell of a lot more work on my part."  
  
The only sound is how Zlatko scrapes against the ground as he's dragged.  
  
"Okay, Zlatko." Hank huffs, "Have it your way."

Hank sits on the edge of the well until the paralytic wears off. He wants to be sure Zlatko can feel everything before they begin.  
  
"Adduhsuh," Zlatko slurs.  
  
Hank stares down at him.  
  
"That's yuh name, uh? Anduhsun." Zlatko wiggles on the ground, working his jaw.

Connor hisses, "How dare he say your name, _our name_ after what he's done," and Hank can feel Connor's rage boiling in his chest.  
  
He kicks Zlatko hard in the gut, who doubles up, coughing and spluttering.  
  
"Wait!" he gasps. "Wait, just... calm down! ...You're here about that android." Zlatko's teeth glint in the light of the basement. "The one the police came knocking on my door over."  
  
"You don't talk about him," Hank spits.  
  
"You're a police lieutenant! Aren't you policemen supposed to play by the rules? Due process?"

"There are lots of things we're supposed to do," Hank says. "Lots of things you do that you're not supposed to do. Like dismember innocent androids. See, I'm not here as a member of the DPD. I'm here as a widower. I'm a beast of your own creation, Andronikov."

"That android," Zlatko says. "You're so sure I killed him? Your buddies on the force tell you that?"  
  
Hank digs around in his backpack.  
  
"They came to talk to me once and they haven't been back since. If they're so sure I did it, why couldn't they get a warrant?" Zlatko continues to talk while Hank empties his bag. "You're making a mistake. Whatever they told you, they're wrong. The DPD... ever since that time they couldn't turn simple destruction of property into murder—"  
  
Hank's shovel clangs against the ground and Zlatko flinches. "They have my DNA on file!" Zlatko's voice gains a frantic quality. "Whatever they told you they have linking me to that android's death, how do you know it wasn't planted by some android cop who wants to put me away!? If a judge saw through it, wouldn't give them a warrant—"

Hank considers the pickaxe and the shovel he brought. Not the best tools for the job immediately at hand. But Zlatko is planning renovations.  
  
He wanders away from the well and soon finds a more suitable tool. A sledgehammer. When he returns, Zlatko is twitching on the ground, his whole body tight with fear. "You're making a mistake!" Zlatko's voice is nearly a shriek. "What if you're wrong!?"  
  
Hank glances at Connor. Connor gives him a beatific smile.  
  
"I'm not wrong," Hank says flatly. "And if I am, I'm just giving the sort of scum who dismembers other androids what it deserves."

"I didn't know!" Zlatko's words are drawn in a long, whimpering moan. "They were machines, it was like dismantling a machine! They weren't people back then!"  
  
"What a lie," Connor murmurs, and he looks at Hank. "Even you, with all you'd been through, could see I was a person."

"Yes." Hank closes his eyes, feeling the heft of the sledgehammer in his hands. "Yes, I could."  
  
"Long before I deviated." Connor moves through him like a puff of fog.  
  
"Always."   
  
When Hank opens his eyes, Zlatko is twitching so badly, he's nearly skittering. Hank steps on Zlatko's legs to still them. With his ankles bound, his feet stay tightly together.  
  
Zlatko is moaning, a steady stream of of pleas interspersed with an occasional shuddering gasp.  
  
Hank lifts the sledgehammer.

"Please please please please PLEASE PLEASE—"  
  
Hank brings the sledgehammer down on Zlatko's feet with all the force he can muster. The way Zlatko's bones shatter under him travels up his arms and fills him, reverberating to the core of his being. Zlatko is screaming, but Hank can barely hear him over the echo of how his bones break.  
  
"More," Connor says from within him, and Hank lifts the hammer again.

Hank has to be more careful than he anticipated as he works his way slowly up Zlatko's body. It would be too easy to lose control, to let himself go too far. But Zlatko can't die like this. Not yet. This isn't about letting Zlatko off easy, this is about making him suffer. At one point, Hank notices that Zlatko is bleeding from his mouth, and that's when he sees that Zlatko has nearly bitten his tongue off. Hank has to stop and find a rag to stuff in Zlatko's mouth before he goes any further.

He takes his first good look at Zlatko's face then, and the humanity he finds there shakes him. Zlatko's face is a mess of tears, blood, and mucus, his eyes full as he weeps like a baby. He's pleading to Hank with his eyes to make it stop, to make it all stop. Hank stumbles back as though he's suddenly woken up from a trance. The sweat and the dust caking his hands revulses him, the smell of blood and urine thick in the air--  
  
Hank presses his hands to his face, moaning. He feels he is going to break from the horror washing over him.

"Hank." Connor flits about him.  
  
"No," Hank chokes out. "Just fucking—no!"  
  
"_Hank._ You're not done yet."  
  
Hank sobs, collapsing to his knees. His chest feels like it's caving in. He feels too weak to even protest, his moans too quiet for the enormity of what he feels. "I can't—I can't—" Hank presses his hands to his head. "No, no, no..."  
  
He turns his head away, but Connor is there. He closes his eyes, but Connor is there. He curls in on himself but Connor is there, Connor is everywhere, surrounding him completely.

"Hank," Connor says, and there's nothing else but Connor. None of Zlatko's pained sobs, none of Hank's moans of horror. Just Connor and the void that inhabits him. "Hank, you asked me if I suffered at the end. You asked me if I died alone and in pain."

Hank tries to say Connor's name, but there's no air in him. Only Connor.  
  
"Hank," Connor says. "I suffered more terribly than anyone can imagine. Even now, I'm still suffering. Do you know what he did to me? _He took me away from you!_"

And just like that, Connor is just a man in front of Hank, in Hank's arms, touching Hank, his voice simple and anguished and real.   
  
"He took me away from you!" Connor's voice breaks. "He took everything from me, my love, my home, the pieces of me that are missing even now!"

"Connor." Hank tries to gather Connor in his arms, but his hands still go through him. "Connor, oh... oh, _Connor._"  
  
"I will never hold you again!" Tears are running down Connor's face. "Suffering... greater and more terrible than he can ever imagine. Only you and me. Only us."

Connor presses his tear-soaked face through Hank's, an immaterial kiss, and Hank's arms go through Connor over and over.  
  
He swallows his tears, no longer overwhelmed by the horror of what he's done. It's so much easier to keep things in perspective when Connor is here. "You sure he can't understand?" Hank croaks, the ghost of an encouraging smile on his face. "Sure seems to be in an awful lot of pain."  
  
Connor laughs. It isn't the sometimes teasing, sometimes manic laugh he's had since he's died. It's warm and natural and quiet. Hank's heart swells with love and grief. Connor, his Connor.  
  
"Hank," Connor answers. "My Hank. Mine."  
  
"Yours," Hank murmurs.  
  
"Do this for me."  
  
"Yes," Hank whispers. He lets the sledgehammer fall from his grasp. "But enough of this."

Zlatko has passed out. Hank wonders if he should spit on his face or piss on him to wake him up, but decides cold water would be best. He collects a bucket, finds a spigot, and splashes Zlatko. The man flinches back to consciousness.  
  
"Want you awake for this next part," Hank grunts.

Zlatko's eyelids flutter, his gaze cloudy with agony. His voice is hoarse and torn. "P-Please... money, anything you want, anything at all, y-yuh-you can have it...!"  
  
Hank pulls more rope from his bag. Zlatko lets out a wordless cry as Hank ties it to him like a tether. "Anything! Please! You can go, I'll never tell a soul, just call a fucking ambulance!"  
  
"Huh. They supposed to believe you beat yourself up with a hammer?"

Hank lifts Zlatko, who lets out another wordless, strangled cry of pain. Then Hank, slowly and carefully, lowers Zlatko into the well.  
  
"Please!" Zlatko's cry echoes, slurred with pain and the blood in his mouth. "Anything, I'll give you anything!"

Hank palms the end of the rope that's still in his hands. "Anything, huh?"  
  
"_Please!_"  
  
"Then why don't you give me my husband back?" And with that, Hank tosses the rope into the well.

While Zlatko cries out in the darkness, Hank goes upstairs and collects the shotgun, the spent shell, and the pieces of the bust that shattered when Zlatko shot it. He tosses it all in the well, along with the used syringe, the vial, and (aiming carefully) the sledgehammer. He takes his pickaxe and breaks the unfinished ground. Dirt floor or not, it was a good thing he brought it. The pickaxe breaks up the tightly-packed ground much more easily than the shovel would have by itself.  
  
Zlatko cries out as the first shovelful of dirt falls on him. Hank digs up the wet spot on the ground that Zlatko left first, careful to ensure every bit of blood and moisture goes into the well. But it's a big well, and soon Hank has to spread out to ensure his work stays somewhat even.

At first, Hank taunts Zlatko while he digs ("Hey, Zlatko, keep talking to me. Maybe if you make a good enough offer, I'll come pull you out.") But he hadn't anticipated just how demanding the work would be, and soon his mouth is dry and he's too exhausted to keep talking. With every bit of dirt he dumps in the well, Hank checks to see how Zlatko is doing. Often, Hank thinks he's passed out just to see that he's moved ever so slightly the next time Hank looks.  
  
At one point, he looks down and sees Zlatko's eyes glinting up at him from the darkness. Hank shivers at the sight and dumps the dirt. Zlatko coughs as though it's fallen partly into his mouth.  
  
Hank goes back to digging. He's too cold and too hot, his hands are growing blistered from the work.

"Anderson." Zlatko's voice leaks out from the well.  
  
Hank keeps digging.   
  
"Anderson." Slightly louder. "What did you do to me? Oh, God, what did you do to me!?"

Hank keeps digging and digging. By the time Zlatko is buried up to his torso in dirt, Hank can't look at him any more.  
  
"Just end it already," Zlatko begs. "Oh, Christ. Why are you doing this to me?"  
  
Hank shivers while Connor laughs.

"It hurts! Help! God, somebody, help!"  
  
"Shut up," Hank mutters to himself as he keeps working.  
  
Eventually, Zlatko's shouts turn back into moans. Monotonous, long moans.  
  
Hank's hands bleed on the shovel handle. He doesn't feel any pain, just a bone-deep exhaustion. By the time Hank looks back into the well, Zlatko is struggling madly, the dirt up to his mouth and clinging to his face. It's curious to watch. Even broken and in such extreme agony as he is, Zlatko is panicking, fighting madly to keep his head from going under. The human drive to survive despite itself is remarkable, Hank reflects.  
  
Zlatko turns his face up, gasping. "Anderson! _Anderson!_"

Hank dumps another shovelful. Then another, and then another until Zlatko is gone from his sight. The way the dirt churns in the well is hypnotizing. A muffled scream, and Hank imagines how the loose dirt must be filling Zlatko's mouth, filling his nose, filling his eyes.  
  
Hank keeps digging. Eventually the dirt stops churning. Hank still can't stop, he needs to fill the well further up, pack the dirt down as best as he can. He digs and digs and digs.  
  
Hank takes a short break and cleans himself up. He bandages himself as best he can, pulls on gloves before he starts bleeding on the dirt.

Hours of work. Eventually, the dirt rises to a level that Hank can tamp down and see as acceptable. Even so, his work isn't done. He pulls bags out of his backpack, grabs the bucket he used to splash Zlatko. He mixes a bucket of concrete grout. He looks into the well. He'd planned to taunt Zlatko one last time, to offer to pull him out. But he's too exhausted now.  
  
He pours the concrete grout and mixes another bucket. He keeps working until the concrete is level with the opening of the well.

Filthy and barely aware of his own actions, Hank stuffs all his clothes into his backpack. He climbs the stairs into the rest of the house, and the dim light filtering in through the windows gives him a headache. He changes into a set of Zlatko's clothes, steals Zlatko's shoes. He does a cursory, exhausted sweep to see if he left anything behind, an object or a drop of blood. Then he leaves through the back door and wanders through the streets until he remembers to call an autotaxi.  
  
He settles into the seat, closes his eyes—

—and is woken instantly by the pleasant voice informing him he's arrived at his destination. Home.  
  
As soon as he walks through the door, he collapses into bed and is lost to the world.  
  
Jeffrey calls at some point. Hank rises through sleep to talk to him. And then he sinks back into dreamless, black sleep.  
  
It isn't until hours later, when the house is dark and absolutely still that Hank realizes just how quiet it is.

"Connor?" Hank calls.  
  
Silence.  
  
"Connor?" For the first time since arriving home, a flicker of emotion stirs in him. "Connor, where are you?"  
  
A laugh from down the hall. Or is it a laugh? Is it just his imagination?  
  
When Hank looks, he finds nothing there. A laugh from behind him. A phantom, or a noise from outside the house? Or Connor?   
  
Connor is dead, Connor is—  
  
"Connor!" Hank whirls around his living room. "Connor, where are you!?"  
  
He's heedless of his exhaustion, heedless of how his body is aching, how heavy he is. He throws open the door, runs out into the street. He can hear Connor laughing, he can hear Connor _somewhere_. Anywhere. He can't be gone, he can't be—  
  
"Connor!" He screams as he runs toward where he thinks he can hear that laughter. "Say something! Connor!"

He runs and runs, senseless, desperate to hear Connor say his name, desperate to see Connor's smile again. With Connor's laughter guiding him—  
  
Connor's laughter chasing him—  
  
Connor's laughter all around him and inside him, he runs further and further into the darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Follow me on Twitter [@CeilingKiwi](https://twitter.com/CeilingKiwi)


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